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A Game That Controls, A Game That Hates
Before Reading To begin, I’m in 9th grade, I’m an inexperienced writer, and frankly, this is my first story with creepy elements in them. Any typos, plot holes, or poor word choices are my fault. Please post any critisisim in the comments (edited by Rocketman387) NOTE TO WRITER: email adress = bad idea you dont want to get cyberstalked -Rocketman387 A Game That Controls, A Game That Hates: 6/12/15 Crime report for Deputy ████████ Last Sunday, we got a call for a shooting at the apartments on West Blvd. First response team entered the apartment and found three bodies in the living room, two unidentifiable adults (Due to the excessive mutilation of their bodies), and one child around 14-16 years old. The adults were killed by deep lacerations found on their faces and mid-torso area. The child died of a bullet wound to the intestinal area. The child also showed symptoms of pale green skin and sudden baldening, symptoms possibly connected to the disease the CDC recently started to pick up on. Upon investigation of the house, Officer ███████ found a laptop belonging to the child on the living room couch, it was still powered on when they found it. A window was still open, it was an unnamed text document. After reading it, officers discovered the child had wrote it before his assumed time of death. I have copied the entire document and pasted it below: ______________________________________________________________________________ I’m writing this because I am dying and I want to set things right. To make your jobs easier, I will say this; This was all my fault. I will also explain this mystery in whatever detail I still remember. First of all, I cannot remember my name or any event before this. The only identity I bear is of the crime I committed. ' '''I lived here with my mother and father, for how long, I don’t know. I remember waking up like any other morning but not going asleep the night before. I sat up on my bed and reached for my laptop to check my email. In my inbox there lied only one message, it had no subject and to my surprise, no sender either. The message said nothing, but there was something to download off of it. It was a file called “anger.exe”. It was obviously a virus, but my laptop was old and I was going to buy a new one a week later anyway, so I decided to give it one last hoorah. Surprisingly, I downloaded the file quickly and my anti-virus stayed quiet. ' 'I went to the desktop and opened the file. A small window opened up with a black screen. It stayed frozen and black for about ten seconds until an odd jumble of colored pixels appeared in the window. I looked at it in confusion until I realized it was a game. It was a barebones 8-bit platformer game. It was a very simplistic game, there was no music and my character was just a single black square. I was weirded out of course, but I was also curious. I played the game just like another one. The first stage was an easy two platform course and the next one a three platform course. The third stage had thrown a curveball at me, it was a complicated mess of moving platforms, spike traps and turrets that shot yellow pellets at me. I had thought to myself that this was the weirdest game I had ever played. After numerous deaths and groans, I had reached the fourth stage, it was the same course, just more smushed together and everything moved faster. My eyes had hurt looking at all of the things going on in the same spot. I continued to maneuver the course, my fingers felt like to moved to the keys much faster than I could possibly move them. I was starting to get a little scared, my brain was on autopilot and the game almost felt like it was controlling me to controll it. I had reached the fifth stage and everything was a black and yellow blur, things were moving way too fast, but my hands still kept moving by themselves, pressing keys with master precision. All I could do was sit there and watch this. Apparently after two minutes, I had finished the course. The black screen said “Entering Stage 6” in blocky white letters. ' '''The stage had appeared and whatever it was, it gave me a serious migraine, as if someone had smashed a brick over my head. My vision had tunneled, everything was going 500 miles per hour. The only sounds I could make was the rapid tapping on the keyboard and the occasional yelp of frustration. I just went on and on and on for several minutes, until I heard my door slam open. Everything stopped, returning to normal speed, my head still clenched in a vice. I looked behind me and saw my dad at the door with a scowling face. My father was always mad at me whenever I picked up a game controller or sat on a computer, as he thought I was wasting my life away. My dad had yelled out something, but it sounded like muffled garbage, my headache was way too severe. I looked down at my hands, they were shaking violently. He continued to scream and shout as I ignored him. He walked over to me, grabbing my right wrist. As soon as he touched me, my left hand reached over to the pocket knife I kept on my nightstand. I was deathly afraid of what was happening, I had absolutely no control over myself. I flipped the pocket knife open and my father backed off, still bellowing his funneled yell. I stood up with inhumane speed, my brain felt like it was frying in my skull. I had dug the blade in my father’s shoulder, he howled in pain. My arms kept swinging back and forth, jabbing him with the knife over and over and over. As I did this, the corners of my eyes started to go blind, the black blobs forming closer to my pupils. I couldn’t stop breathing heavily as I faded from consciousness, I had blacked out. When I regained sight and thought, I was in the living, my hand still holding the steel blade. But I felt something different, something overwhelming, it was pain. I placed my palm on my bare stomach, when I retracted, my hand was covered in warm black blood. I looked forward and saw my mother holding my father’s 12 gauge hunting shotgun, smoke extruding from the end of the barrel, she was shaking in fear. The hole in my stomach was a bullet wound, my mother had shot me. Yet I still stood there alive, my legs kept slowly drawing me forward towards her. I swung my arm back and smacked the gun, knocking it right out of her hands. My mother fell over and crawled to the wall, funneled screams filled my ears. I blacked out again. The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself. My skin had turned from it’s usual pasty white to a faded green, creviced with wrinkles and cuts. I looked like an ancient man, my hair was also falling out, forming a light brown pile at my feet. What have I become? What have I just done? Those were the questions I was asking myself as I walked back to the living room, the bodies of my parents slumped on the couch. I sat next to them, tears in my eyes, bearing a face of deep regret and sadness. My migraine had subsided and I reassumed control of my body. I dropped the knife on the floor, it landed on the carpet with a wet thud. The blood from my bullet wound stained my shirt, I knew I was about to die. And that’s the sum of things. I’m writing these words on my last gasps of breath. I never meant for this to happen. My parents didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry. ______________________________________________________________________________ While trying to find the mentioned program, investigators found no trace of the file, no deletion, no download, not even an email. With the homicide pretty much solved, the CDC asked us to hand over the case file for further search into this “anger.exe.” Officials at the CDC say that this disease caused by the program may have caused several homicides across the country and the mental difficulties that Adam Lanza suffered from. Clean-up crews are almost done removing the bodies from the home and will contact the victims’ relatives tomorrow around noon. End of report. ______________________________________________________________________________ Category:Creepypasta Category:Creepypastas Category:Video Games Category:Video Game Category:Original Story